


Sear me

by liv_k



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Suitless Darth Vader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 15:51:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18013793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_k/pseuds/liv_k
Summary: “So here we are, a failed Jedi, a Sith, and our imminent deaths. I leave it to you to choose how we will meet our demise, whether fighting or doing something else entirely.”“You are insane,” Vader murmured.





	Sear me

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings in end notes.** I suggest you check if you're a sensitive reader. 
> 
>  
> 
> The mentions of Utapau refer to one of the (amazing) unfinished arcs of the Clone Wars in which Obi-Wan and Anakin discover a secret plot to weaponize a giant kyber crystal but, as usual, are unable to get to the bottom of it, leaving us all to yell in frustration at the screen.

 

_Pour yourself into me,_  
_Our time approaches so near, that I sigh._  
_What danger in such an adorer?_  
_We dance and the music dies._  
_We carry them all away,_  
_As we glide through their lost eyes._  
_You lift me above myself,_  
_With the ghostly lake of your mind._  
_Arise from your slumber in my arms._  
_Your beauty took the strength from me._  
_In the meadows of heaven,_  
_We run through the stars._  
_Romantic in our tastes._  
_We are without excuse.  
_ _We burn in our lust.  
_ _We die in our eyes and drown in our arms._

(My Dying Bride, _Sear me MCMXCIII_ )

On the seventh day of winter of the fourth year of the Galactic Empire, Obi-Wan Kenobi awoke to the knowledge that the time of his death had come.

His first reaction was panic, blind searing panic that turned his vision white for a moment and stopped his heart in his chest. It was soon, far too soon. He was not ready: the teachings Qui-Gon had tried to impart still eluded him. And, more importantly, Luke was not ready, his training had not begun yet: the child was only four years, nine months and eleven days old. Obi-Wan knew Luke’s exact age by heart, for he had been born on the same day Obi-Wan’s own heart had died, burnt to ashes on a river of fire.

The panic lasted only for a stilled heartbeat; after that, a lifetime of Jedi training took over. Obi-Wan swallowed, blinked twice, registered the notion, accepted that there was nothing he could do about it and let the panic turn into disappointment before he let it drift away in the currents of the Force.

With one last sigh he got out of his bed and set to his morning routine. He collected fresh water from the vaporator, made his tea and drank it under the rays of the dawning suns in the small patio overlooking the Jundland Wastes, then set towards the Dune Sea to meditate.

He made only two concessions to this fateful day: the first was to give one last loving look at the lightsaber that had once been Anakin’s, reverent fingers caressing the beautiful hilt as he asked the Force to let Luke have it when the time came. The second was to don, for the first time in years, his old robes – trousers, undertunic, tunic and tabards – and to clip his old lightsaber to his belt.

If he had to die, at least he would die as a Jedi.

 

*

 

Death found him mid-morning on the dunes, and it came in the most unlikely form. He saw it coming from miles away, a steady trail in the sand marking its path through the desert.

“Hello there,” he said, his heart clenching as the astromech droid he had left into Bail Organa’s care stopped before him, chirping a greeting in an unusually subdued tone.

His eyes half-closed against the light of the suns, Obi-Wan reached out with a hand to pat the droid on its dome. Artoo beeped uncertainly, probably knowing that its presence was harbinger of a still too raw pain. Four years were not nearly enough to recover from the loss of the man whose absence loomed between them.

“I am glad to see you, old friend,” Obi-Wan reassured the affectionate droid, a tired smile on his lips.

Artoo acknowledged him with a short rotation of its dome, a gesture somehow akin to a timid purr, and offered him a pained beep. Obi-Wan didn’t reply. Some thing were better left unsaid.

“Why have you come all the way out here?” he asked instead. “Not on a pleasure trip, I imagine.”

Artoo shifted uneasily on its feet and warbled something in a clearly apologetic tone.

“A message for me? No, no, don’t fret,” he said gently, trying to soothe the droid’s clear distress; it was so strong he could almost sense it through the Force. Trust Anakin to let his droid gain _this much_ personality. “I know it won’t be anything good. Let’s just get this over with.”

Beeping meekly, Artoo powered up his holotransmitter, and the image of a tall man about Obi-Wan’s age rose on the sand, blue against the blue sky. He was handsome, dressed in the militaristic, elegant couture _en vogue_ on Coruscant since the rise of the Empire.

 _“Senator Organa. I come to you in my most desperate hour. My name is Galen Erso, and I am the head of a research team gathered by Grand Moff Tarkin to develop a secret weapon powered by kyber crystals, a weapon with the power to destroy an entire planet. We call it the_ Death Star _. There is no better name, and the day is coming soon when it will be unleashed. It is a long story, and there is not enough time for me to tell it. I tried to sabotage the project, to stall its development, until the Empire found out that my long lost daughter was still alive. You have a daughter too, Senator, I know you will understand. I did everything I could to find her before they did, and in doing this I blew up my cover. They are coming for me. As soon as I’m dead and Orson Krennic has found a replacement, they will realize that the weapon is ready. Before I fled I did the only thing I could do that they would not find out: I crafted a fault line in the crystal, one so thin only a strong Force user who already knows about it would find it. I know you were a good friend of the Jedi, Senator. If one of them still lives, this is where they are needed. Do everything you can to stop this abomination - and please, should you ever get news about my daughter Jyn, do everything you can to protect her. May the Force be with you.”_

Galen Erso disappeared and Bail Organa materialized in his place.

 _“Obi-Wan. I am truly sorry to ask this of you, but you realize this is of the utmost importance. We cannot allow the Emperor to unleash a planet-killer. Ahsoka Tano – she’s alive, Obi-Wan – has volunteered to be the one to board the_ Death Star _and destroy the crystal. She knows she won’t come back. We can’t allow Vader to get on the_ Death Star _while she is there, he will sense her presence, and she is not strong enough to face him. She doesn't even know who he is. I need you to keep him away. You will find a ship waiting for you in Mos Espa’s spaceport; the coordinates of the Executor – Vader’s flagship – are in the navicomputer. Lure him, make him follow you, keep him away from that damned space station until Ahsoka has completed her mission. Then, please, come back safe.  I don’t want to lose you both. I… I have sent word to Master Yoda, he will watch over the boy should something happen to you. But please, please, my old friend, don’t do anything foolish. I hope to see you again. May the Force be with you.”_

Silence fell around him, broken only by a tremulous gust of wind over the dunes. Artoo didn’t let out a single beep.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes to breathe the scent of the desert one last time.

“I will do what I must,” he said.

 

*

 

As his small ship darted through hyperspace, Obi-Wan laid his trap.

In the years after that nightmarish confrontation on Mustafar, where he had been forced to watch his best friend being devoured by the Dark Side until it twisted him into everything they had both sworn to destroy, Obi-Wan had come to the conclusion that Anakin Skywalker had indeed perished alongside Mace Windu in the Chancellor’s Office, and that the monster he had fought amidst the lava floods was a broken, soulless shell that retained nothing more than the semblance and some traits of the man Obi-Wan had loved.

He could almost hear Qui-Gon sighing in frustration in his head: his old Master had spent the last four years trying to tell him that his stubborn refusal to accept what Qui-Gon called “ _Vader’s true identity_ ” was hindering his progress in their training; Obi-Wan had no intention whatsoever to change his mind. That monster was not his Padawan.

Besides, now that he knew he was going to die before he could master the power to retain his consciousness after death, Obi-Wan realized that he was, actually, quite glad of that: given what his life had become, the idea of following Qui-Gon’s steps on the path for immortality wasn’t really that appealing.

At any rate, when the mere thought didn't just hurt too much, the fact that Vader and Anakin actually shared some traits could be an asset.

Knowing Anakin as he did, and knowing enough about Vader thanks to a far too extensive _HoloNet_ coverage, Obi-Wan was probably the only person in the whole Galaxy – save, perhaps, Darth Sidious, but this wasn’t a thought he particularly liked to entertain – who could actually consider Darth Vader’s behavior as predictable.

Thus, Obi-Wan knew he could trust Vader to succeed on suicide missions on impossible odds, to spin a starfighter in a corkscrew dive that would make any normal sentient sick, and, most importantly and to the point, to rush alone in a blind quest for revenge against an enemy he thought he had a score to settle with.

It was for this reason that he dropped out of hyperspace far enough from Vader’s flagship to avoid being automatically caught into its tractor beam but not so far as to be out of comm range. He didn’t have to wait long for the Super star-Destroyer to hail him and demand he stated his identity and planned route.

“Good morning, my Imperial friend,” he greeted the comm officer. “This is Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, but I’m quite sure you’ve already figured that out.” Oh, he had, it was evident from the dismay etched on his face. Obi-Wan paused for a moment to smirk. Well, if nothing else, he wasn’t going to die without a last laugh at the Empire’s expenses. “It appears Lord Vader has been looking for me. I daresay his performance has not been impressive so far, so I’ve decided to come and help him. Please, let him know I’ll be waiting for him in my ship. Oh, and don’t try to engage the tractor beam or I’ll be gone before you can blink. Have a good day.”

Obi-Wan cut off the comm with a dry laughter.

“Oh, Anakin,” he told the starlit darkness of space. “I wish you were here to see his face. You would have loved it.”

 

*

 

Vader’s predictable behavior did not let him down: not five minutes had passed before a lone TIE-fighter Advanced sprinted out of the _Super Star-Destroyer_ hangar, soaring in a terse arc towards the small freighter. Obi-Wan checked his scanners, just to be on the safe side, but Vader’s flagship seemed to be keen on remaining where it was, and there was no trace of the power surge that a tractor beam would generate.

“Hello there,” he hailed the TIE-fighter as soon as it was in range of his own tractor beam. No reply came, save perhaps a stifled grunt, but he had expected none. When Vader’s personal starfighter was securely fastened at his rear airlock, the presence of his owner aboard signaled by a stark hole of darkness in the Force, Obi-Wan pulled the hyperdrive lever, sending both ships hurtling into hyperspace towards their doom.

 

*

 

Darth Vader was waiting for him at the opposite end of the ship’s conference room, standing in all his dubious majesty in a doorframe, the garish red of his lightsaber lazily pointed towards the floor. Obi-Wan’s shoulder slacked slightly in amused relief as he saw the polished mask he was wearing: at least, he would be spared the sight of a yellow-eyed Sith Lord sporting Anakin Skywalker’s face.

“I see that the Dark Side has not improved your taste in clothing, Darth,” he noted, igniting his saber and swinging it in a mocking salute towards the dramatic full-body suit Vader had chosen to replace Anakin’s dark Jedi robes.

“We meet again, at last,” Vader replied, apparently unwilling to rise to the bait, his vocabulator twisting his still youthful voice into an even, mechanical tone.

“Oh, yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledged dryly, slightly disappointed at the lack of an adequate response to his taunt. He tightened his shielding, unwilling to even brush against Vader’s darkness in the Force. “How fortunate.”

“What is this all about?” Vader snarled, taking a step forward, his black cape billowing in his trail. “What do you hope to achieve by bringing me away from my fleet? Are you hoping to overpower me in a duel and take me prisoner? Or to talk me back into your precious Light?”

Obi-Wan offered him a tight smile. “Nothing of the sort. I just wished to spend some quality time with an old acquaintance before I die.”

This made Vader stop.

“Are you ill?” he asked sharply. Obi-Wan could hear the concern in his voice; had he not known better, he would have thought it was his wellbeing Vader was worrying about.

“No, I’m perfectly healthy, thank you. It won’t be anything as mundane as a disease to deprive you of the pleasure to kill me yourself.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“Oh, you’ll figure that out.” Obi-Wan smiled pleasantly. “Eventually.”

“You are making me angry, Kenobi,” Vader said, wagging an admonishing finger at him. “I advise against doing so. My anger will only make me stronger.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “You’re not getting angry. You’re getting _pissed off_ , and this is not a very Sith-like feeling, is it, Darth?”

“Stop calling me that,” Vader spat, swinging his saber menacingly as he advanced. “I have a name.”

Obi-Wan strengthened his grip on the hilt of his weapon, knowing that the time for words was nearing its end. A pity: there was something oddly comforting in this twisted mockery of the banter he used to share with his former Padawan. Or, perhaps, he had merely been alone with a dead man’s ghost for too long.

“You know, I don’t really like your new name,” he replied in that even, polished tone he knew would drive his opponent mad. “I thought you’d choose a more dramatic moniker, given the tradition of your lineage. Maul. Sidious. _Tyranus_. You will admit, yours sounds almost… _bland_ , amidst such an evocative ensemble.” He shifted his weight, stepping into a battle-ready stance. When he spoke, his voice was hardened steel. “And I most certainly won’t use the name Shmi Skywalker bestowed upon the body you wear when she gave birth to the man you destroyed. You are not worthy of bearing that name.”

When the searing blade of red plasma fell on him in an angry strike fueled by a dark swelling of all-encompassing hatred, Obi-Wan’s column of pure sapphire was there to meet it blow for blow.

 

*

 

They fought in the conference room as furiously as they had fought in the control room on Mustafar, reducing the furniture to smoldering debris after no longer than a couple of minutes; Obi-Wan could only find a modicum of comfort in the fact that this time, at least, the room wasn’t littered with still warm corpses he risked stumbling upon as their sabers clashed against each other.

The scenery wasn’t the only thing that reminded him painfully of the last time he and Vader had crossed blades: once again, while his opponent was ferociously trying to kill him, he was only trying to wear him down, to prolong the duel long enough to ensure that his plan would succeed.

“You will never speak of her again,” Vader snarled after a particularly vicious sweep of his saber, one that should have, by all rights, taken Obi-Wan’s head off had he not ducked with a split second to spare.

“Oh, do you think she would support your Empire? Do you think she would thank you for what you did to her only son?” Obi-Wan snapped, parrying another hailstorm of slashes and blows.

Rage twirled around Vader’s black figure, driving his next slash, but, as Obi-Wan had anticipated, he was not yet able to control the power of his own emotion with the iron fist of a full-fledged Sith Lord; when Obi-Wan avoided his blow with a roll, his momentum sent Vader stumbling. Obi-Wan caught the opening, outstretched his hand and sent him hurtling backwards and crashing against a wall with a surge of the Force.

Backing away, Obi-Wan fell back into his defensive stance, holding his weapon in a two-handed grip.

Grunting, Vader pulled himself to his feet. “You could have tried to kill me right now,” he said, stepping forward as Obi-Wan took a step sideways.

“I could have,” Obi-Wan conceded, lazily circling around Vader, who looked like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

“You are still too weak to strike me down. Your _compassion_ is still holding your hand back.”

“The compassion I showed you once was misguided, but is not the reason why I did not attack you now,” Obi-Wan retorted. “You know me too well, just like I know you; you would have anticipated my every move. I am not a fool.”

“And you think I am?”

Obi-Wan smirked. “You have not impressed me with your brilliant tactics on Mustafar.”

“When I left you, I was but the learner,” Vader said, stepping back.

There was something in his voice, a dark thrill of elated anticipation, a burning desire to cause suffering, that made Obi-Wan’s skin crawl. He lifted his saber above his head and stretched his left arm outwards in the opening stance of Soresu, bracing himself for whatever new move Vader had in store for him, but in his heart he already knew that there wasn’t a saber form that would protect him from what was about to happen.

“On Mustafar you taught me all that there is to know about taking advantage of your enemy’s weaknesses,” Vader went on, his voice soft even in its mechanical notes. “I can see now what yours is.”

Something in Vader’s suit let out an angry, mechanical _hiss_ as he lifted his hands to his face, grasping the edge of his helmet.

“No,” Obi-Wan pleaded, before realizing he was doing it, flinching as Vader’s helmet fell to the floor with an audible _thud_ , unable to tear his gaze away from the mask below, even more frightening now that it was bare, now that Obi-Wan could see how constricting it was, how artificial Vader’s life had become. His hands dropped, his blade falling in a tired arc by his side.

The mask snapped open, and clattered on the floor beside the discarded helmet.

“You weak old fool,” said a monster wearing the face of Anakin Skywalker. “You could not kill me then, you will not kill me now.”

 

*

 

The composure he had spent all his journey to craft now beginning to shatter, Obi-Wan fought back bile, tears and the awful knowledge that, this time, Vader might really have the high ground.

Four years behind that mask, away from fresh air and sunlight, had stolen the golden splendor of Anakin’s complexion from Darth Vader’s face. What Obi-Wan saw now was the face of a ghost, eerily white skin like a pale moon on which his golden eyes cast no light, twins suns burning in the dark of the night, their splendor curled upon itself and directed only inwards. On Mustafar, Obi-Wan had been spared this: when those eyes had turned yellow, towards the end, it had been easy to convince himself that what he saw was an illusion created by the smoldering light cast by the lava.

Now, seeing what Anakin’s face looked like with Sith eyes made him cry out in agony. Mercifully, he didn’t have much time to dwell upon his renewed anguish, because Vader was once again darting towards him in a  frenzy.

It became soon apparent that he had lost some of his finesse in swordplay: he wasn’t feigning and striking as unpredictably and hauntingly as a lightning in a summer storm like Anakin Skywalker used to back in the day, but was coming at him in a tornado of Djem-so blows, unyielding, pounding on the arched cathedral of Obi-Wan’s Soresu like a firestorm in an apocalyptic vision, a vision of red lava soaring and falling on him to burn him alive in retaliation.

When another eruption of red fire fell down on him, Obi-Wan’s saber soared in a pointed arch to meet it, a sapphire sky stopping the descent of a blazing sun. His other hand rose to catch Vader’s right wrist and twisted it backwards. Vader’s left hand rose to Obi-Wan’s throat, his fingers closing on frail flesh, but Obi-Wan didn’t let go. Grinding his teeth, calling onto the Force for help, Obi-Wan pushed Vader with his body and Vader gave way, one unwilling step after the other, until he was pinned against a closed door, the two sabers cutting through the plasteel of the wall beside it, showering them in smoldering sparks.

Vader’s eyes shone like molten gold as he watched Obi-Wan shudder and gasp, and they were filled with hatred, rage and something else that Obi-Wan could not pinpoint.

And the only thing Obi-Wan could think of was that he was beautiful still. Hauntingly beautiful.

Then, in a moment of blessing that lasted for a too brief eternity, Obi-Wan's blade cast its glow on that pale, hardened face and Obi-Wan could once again see Anakin before him, his beautiful Anakin, his eyes shining in pure sapphire. He could almost pretend they were sparring in the Temple dojo, weren't it for the fact that Vader's crushing grip against his throat would not relent and that he was about to be choked to death.

 _Anakin’s blue eyes will be the last thing I see before I die_ , he thought, then he pushed forwards one last time and prepared to die as his lips crashed against Vader’s so hard their teeth clattered.

Vader’s fingers slacked around his throat, and Obi-Wan breathed life and the scent and the taste of Anakin as he let go both of his saber and of Vader’s wrist to close his hands around his face.

“I loved him so much,” he gasped against his lips, unarmed, waiting for the red blade to cut through his heart.

Only that it didn’t.

It clattered to the floor, deactivated, and Vader’s lips gave way under his for the time of a heartbeat as the Force shivered around them, before Vader pushed him away, sending him stumbling against a broken chair.

“What’s this new trickery, old man?” he snarled, towering upon him, his golden eyes wide, almost bulging, so bright it hurt.

Unable to reply, unable to believe that he had kissed Darth Vader and that, albeit momentarily, he was still alive to tell the tale, Obi-Wan blinked, unconsciously bringing his fingers to his lips.

“Obi-Wan?”

He flinched as he heard his name spoken in that familiar voice, unfiltered now that Vader had removed his mask.

“Have you gone out of your mind?”

Obi-Wan laughed dryly, a sound that was terrifying to his own ears, dark and hopeless.

“Possibly.”

Gingerly, feeling every single one of his forty-two years aching in his bones, he took a step towards Vader, and then another.

“Why in the seven Sith hells did you do that?” Vader asked again, his dumbfounded expression terribly _Anakin_.

“We are both about to die,” Obi-Wan said when he managed to center himself. Somehow, he mustered enough strength to regard Vader with a crooked smile. “I programmed the navicomputer to crash us into a planet.”

“You did what?” Vader roared. He outstretched his right arm, clenching his fingers into a fist over thin air, and an invisible presence lifted Obi-Wan off his feet and closed around his already bruised throat.

Obi-Wan gasped, his hands struggling uselessly against the invisible fingers that were crushing his windpipe. “I – programmed – the jump – to crash us – into Mustafar.” He bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Kind of – poetic – we – die – there.”

“ _Mustafar?_ ”

Vader’s shock was so strong he forgot to keep his focus on choking Obi-Wan, who dropped onto his knees gasping for air.

“I want – that fucking place – blasted into – oblivion,” Obi-Wan snarled, still trying to catch his breath and massaging his offended neck as he rose to his feet. “Factory, platforms and that preposterous castle you’ve built upon it, I want it all erased from the face of the Galaxy. Oh, and, before you dart to the cockpit to reprogram the navicomputer, let me tell you that I put my lightsaber through all the circuits save those necessary for the jump. There is no going back for either of us.” He chuckled darkly, knowing that Vader could sense he was telling the truth. Obi-Wan could feel that his anger at being fooled like this was almost paralyzing him. _You thought you were smarter than that, did you, Darth?_

“Going back has never been an option,” Vader growled at last. “Or were you thinking you could save me with the kiss of true love before we die?”

Obi-Wan laughed again. “You make me look more selfless than I am. No, I wasn’t doing this for you. You and your Emperor have worked hard to make these last years far less than enjoyable. I merely wished to die while doing something pleasant for a change; you already know that killing you wouldn’t give me any pleasure.”

“While kissing me would?”

“I thought you would kill me the moment I kissed you. I wanted to die pretending I was kissing him.” Obi-Wan admitted with a self-conscious shrug. “I should have kissed him many years ago,” he added somberly. “I loved the man whose face you wear.”

“I am that man,” Vader growled, his eyes shimmering dangerously as he took a step towards Obi-Wan, closing the distance between them. “I don’t know what lies you’ve been telling yourself, Kenobi, but for you I will always be Anakin Skywalker.”

Vader’s next strike came in the Force. Obi-Wan, too unbalanced by their emotional confrontation, slipped and lost his hold on his shields. Vader took the opening, his darkness creeping in between the cracks and, before Obi-Wan could push him out, he violently grasped the most cherished part of Obi-Wan’s soul, that one long-dead bond, and brought it back to life, a thread of smoldering embers joining once again Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in fire and shadows.

Obi-Wan cried out in agony as he was forced to face the truth he had tried to deny, the death of all his hopes and dreams, the stark reality of Anakin turning against him and pledging his life to the Sith. Still, stubborn to the end, he turned away from it. He didn’t want to surrender, to let go of his illusion. Vader’s fingers closed around the collars of his tunic, pulling him closer.

“Will you deny who I am now? Will you deny the truth of the Force?”

When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, Vader pushed on. “And you never loved me, or you would have killed me on Mustafar, _Jedi_ ,” he spat, disgust threaded into his words. “You would lie with your dying breath, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Had you really loved me, the Jedi in you would have given me the mercy of a painless death rather than leave me in the hands of the Sith. I know how your lot thinks.”

“Perhaps, then, I am not worthy of the title of Jedi,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Vader blinked, apparently stunned out of speech by this contrite admission, and for a moment Obi-Wan almost dared hope as he felt a faint thread of grief and longing for something that had never been passing across their violently resurrected bond. It was almost imperceptible amidst the hatred and the anger and the pain, but it was there nonetheless. Vader had made a mistake in opening that bond again: he had bared himself as well, and now Obi-Wan knew the weakness they shared. He also knew how bad Anakin had always been at denying himself what he wanted.

Apparently, some part of them now wanted the same thing.

Obi-Wan knew that a Jedi should not long, should not want, but when it came to Anakin he had simply never known how to stop wanting. Now, at the end of his life, with nothing left to lose save a dignity already in tatters, he would take what he could. He had given so much.

He had given _everything_ , and lost everything.

Perhaps he deserved something too, even if it was only a soulless body – or, perhaps, he deserved this soulless body as his last punishment for having spared him.

Shakily, he lifted his hand to cup Vader’s face, studiously avoiding his yellow glare and focusing on his lips instead. A dreadful calm set on their bond, and the Force fell silent.

“So here we are, a failed Jedi, a Sith, and their imminent deaths,” he said softly. “I leave it to you to choose how we will meet our demise, whether fighting or doing something else entirely.”

“You are insane,” Vader murmured, and still he leant into the gesture like a touch-starved sand panther; Obi-Wan’s fingers curled against his cheekbone.

“And wouldn’t you, were you in my place?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you’re just trying to make me lower my defenses so you can catch me off-guard and kill me.”

“I am already killing us both with every passing moment,” Obi-Wan said. “And, besides, I don’t think you care this much about your life. Or that you still want to kill me. I would be already dead if you did.”

Vader hissed, nothing more than a flutter of warm breath on Obi-Wan’s lips, but he didn’t back away or deny this claim.

Obi-Wan could feel his uncertainty drifting in waves from him, a cold wind on a dead ocean; intertwined in it, he could sense the growing tide of barely-suppressed desire, the echo of a truth always left unspoken, never acted upon.

“You’re insane,” Vader repeated.

“I have been for a long time,” Obi-Wan said, smiling sadly, and Vader’s eyes fluttered close, his long eyelashes hiding the awful hue of his eyes. _I’ve loved you beyond sense and reason for so long_. “A long, long time now.”

“I hate you,” Vader growled, probably meaning it, then kissed him.

His lips were incongruously soft as they parted against Obi-Wan’s. Sighing, Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let himself drown in the welcoming warmth that had the shape of Anakin’s mouth, licking into it and against his tongue, lips sliding over lips.

It was just moments before Vader counterattacked, deepening the kiss with the insatiable hunger of the Sith, his hands closing in Obi-Wan’s hair and on Obi-Wan’s hip, pulling him closer.

But Obi-Wan had no intention of letting him get the upper hand in this particular duel. He broke the kiss with a feint, only to bite Vader’s lips and trace their lovely pout with his teeth, driven by the desire to know their shape more intimately than he ever had, to know what he had never dared to know.

 _There is no ignorance_ , he thought stupidly. _No more._

Obi-Wan’s right hand slithered back to tangle in soft, overlong locks, while his left slid between their bodies, palming  Anakin’s body under the stiff fabric of Vader’s black suit, ribs and abdomen, then tracing the hard swell of his hipbone, and further down and down until Vader whimpered in anticipation, all his desire for supremacy forgotten as he instinctively thrust his hips against Obi-Wan’s hand, hungry and demanding. He hissed in frustration when Obi-Wan pulled off to fumble against the wall in search for the door panel he knew had to be somewhere. He found it, and Vader almost stumbled backwards as the door slid open behind him; Obi-Wan caught him before he fell.

“Come,” he grunted, steading him before pushing him backwards along the corridor he knew had to lead to the crew lodgings. Half-walking and half-stumbling, they reached the nearest sleeping quarters; Obi-Wan dragged him inside, then slammed him again against the nearest wall, his previous thoughts about having sex on a civilized bed forgotten as Anakin traced a searing trails of bites around Obi-Wan's already bruised neck, pain and desire intertwined. He pulled Anakin's head closer, tugging at his curls, pressing him against his neck, his shoulder, gasping with every kiss until he put a finger under his chin to lift Anakin's face and kiss him again on his mouth, to gasp in his mouth, tongue sliding against tongue, hips thrusting against hips, now wanting.

Obi-Wan wanted, he wanted bare skin under his fingers, but his mouth curled into a snarl when his hands met the unyielding hardness of Vader’s chestplate – _Vader, Vader,_ a reminder that this was Vader, the twisted image of Anakin, distorted by the lies of the Dark Side.

Obi-Wan didn’t want to think about Vader anymore.

A feral hiss escaping his gritted teeth, Obi-Wan summoned the Force to crush the plastoid armor to pieces and sent them scattering on the floor all around them. The cape, the fabric of the suit, Obi-Wan ripped them with his bare hands, pulling it down Anakin’s arms to expose the wide muscled chest below – and then he jolted back as if he had touched a flame.

Harsh on the white skin, marking it from left shoulder to right hip, was an angry red burn, indelible memory of Mustafar carved in flesh by Obi-Wan’s own hand.

What horrified him most, though, was the sudden discovery of the reason why Vader had started wearing the suit at all. The panel Obi-Wan had believed to be an extreme show of Anakin’s fixation for anything electronic was, now he understood, a life support box encased in his living flesh. Somehow the wound Obi-Wan had inflicted upon him had been deeper than he had thought, and had irreparably damaged something vital.

“My lungs, both,” Vader supplied for him, his voice low. “And my heart. I survived until my Master came to save me only because of you. Because of my hatred for you, my desire for revenge.”

A small part of Obi-Wan couldn't avoid thinking that, apparently, he had a penchant for archenemies willing to survive his killing blows out of sheer spite. Everything else outside that small part of him just hurt instead.

He hid his head in his hands as he stepped back and dropped his weight on the room’s only cot.

Distantly, he heard a rustle of fabric, but he didn’t move, still horrified at the damage he had wrought even as he knew that he had been forced to, that he should have done worse, he should have killed him, until he felt Vader drawing closer.

Eyes burning, Obi-Wan lifted his gaze to take in the forever marred body, the golden metal hand replacing the one Dooku had taken off and the plastoid case that replaced soft tissue, circuitries creating the breath and the heartbeat Obi-Wan himself had taken from him, making him more machine than human. Even Grievous had still had his own beating heart and functioning lungs.

“Now you see what you did to me,” Vader said. He sounded more sad than angry.

“What you made me do,” Obi-Wan whispered.

Only belatedly, as Vader dropped on the cot and straddled him, Obi-Wan realized that, while he had been crying, Vader had undressed and was now completely naked, his somehow still half-hard erection pressed against Obi-Wan's stomach.

“I… I can’t,” Obi-Wan pleaded against Vader’s crushing kiss, jerking his head sideways and slamming it ungraciously on the wall in the attempt to escape the now unwelcome lips. “Not anymore.”

Without warning, Vader shoved him on his back onto the cot, pressing the full length of his body against him, his life-support panel hard against Obi-Wan’s chest and his cock hard against Obi-Wan’s stomach. For a moment, Obi-Wan was afraid, terrified of the sheer physical prowess of the body that was pinning him down, making him helpless. It lasted only a fleeting second, because then Vader’s hands were cupping his face, one cold and one warm, both trembling. Obi-Wan could hear the faint humming of the life-support system, but he could also feel the hot breath on his skin.

“What do you want from me?”

“To undo all that you have done,” Obi-Wan said after a startled moment, realizing he was crying as he heard his own voice break.

“Not even the power of the Dark Side can do that.”

His eyes closed to avoid meeting the golden darkness of Vader’s eyes, Obi-Wan couldn’t see his expression, but his voice was soft, almost gentle.

“Then I want to forget," Obi-Wan said. "To pretend I can forget.”

Vader’s weight lifted from him and Obi-Wan felt him roll beside him and stretch on the cot.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin Skywalker murmured after a moment. “C’me here and forget.”

 

*

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes snapped open, and he propped himself on an elbow, turning towards the naked man lying beside him. The sight before him took his breath away.

Anakin was lying on his stomach, his face turned towards Obi-Wan with his eyes closed and lips open, his right metal hand hidden under him, and the exquisite profile of his sculptural body spread on the cot for Obi-Wan to behold.

He was offering him what part of his body remained unharmed, unmarred, hiding from Obi-Wan's sight everything that made him what he was now – golden eyes, metal arm, scar, life-support – to gift him with this beautiful illusion of purity.

 _Anakin_.

The only difference from how Obi-Wan remembered seeing Anakin’s body during the Clone Wars, in the communal showers or when they shared quarters, was that his skin was now paler, his fair complexion almost glowing in the penumbra. Hyperspace cast its dancing light on his unkempt curls, on the handsome features that had lost all traces of childhood, on the taut profile of his back, on the entrancing swell of his buttocks, on the long legs slightly apart.

Inviting him in.

There was something so deliberately suggestive in the set of his body, in the lewd arch of his back and ass, that Obi-Wan had the nagging suspicion that Anakin had, at least once before, fantasized about offering himself to him like this. The mere thought sent a violent upsurge of arousal through him.

_If I only had taken him. Perhaps…_

But it was too late for that now.

“Why?” he asked, shivering at the depth of the yearning in his voice.

“For the same reason you do,” Anakin said, his voice dark with desire, its velvet tones carving a searing path of fire along Obi-Wan’s spine. “Because I have nothing else. You've taken everything from me, even my revenge. This is my last chance to have something I want.”

Even though he knew that Anakin couldn’t see him, Obi-Wan nodded. It made sense, though it hurt a little bit that what he wanted was _something_ instead of _someone_. Or perhaps it had only been poor phrasing, and what he wanted was actually him, Obi-Wan. With Anakin, one could never know. He wanted to ask him what was it that he wanted, but he was too afraid of breaking the spell.

The truth was that they had both been alone for too long, and neither of them was meant to be alone.

He lowered his head to press a soft kiss on Anakin’s lips, feeling them curl under his, then backed away to undress himself, his fingers slightly shaking as he undid his belt and dropped it on the floor, soon to be followed by his robes.

By the time he was done with it, Anakin was squirming in anticipation, his left hand tracing lazy caresses along the side of his own body. Now completely naked as well, Obi-Wan settled upon him with a sigh, weighing down on all that warm skin, chest pressed against arched back, legs entwining in legs, hardening cock against thigh.

Anakin gasped when Obi-Wan’s tongue traced the shell of his ear, and then again and again as Obi-Wan sucked, bit and scraped all over his back, tracing loving constellations of red spots on his fair skin, losing all rational thought in a haze of scent and bittersweet salty taste. His hands wandered against sweaty skin, shoulders and waist and legs, and Anakin arched back into his mouth and against his hands, then pressed down when Obi-Wan's hand slid around his waist, fingertips stroking the sensitive flesh under the hipbone, threading among curly, soft pubic hair and then, at last, ghosting across the hard length of Anakin.

Anakin's mouth opened in muted pleasure when Obi-Wan's finger closed around him, stroking him, Obi-Wan's mouth tracing kisses down his spine. The mute gasp became a broken cry when Obi-Wan's other hand slid at last between Anakin's buttocks, one finger reverently tracing the entrance to his body.

"Yes... Please."

Shuddering, Obi-Wan teased at Anakin's hole a little longer, then let his finger slide inside Anakin, pushing gently into the secret territory he had never thought he would explore, and it was warm and tight, welcoming, clenching around him with elated anticipation mixed with… _fear?_

He stilled.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin groaned, frustrated by the interruption.

Slowly, Obi-Wan let his finger slid out and leaned forward, pressing his body against Anakin and resting his head on his shoulder.

“Is this your first time?” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against Anakin’s ear.

Without opening his eyes, Anakin nodded.

“Yes.” Probably sensing Obi-Wan’s hesitation, he reached back for him with his left hand, guiding his fingers back to the place they had left. “Please. I want this.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Incongruously, Obi-Wan laughed. “We… we don’t even have a lubricant.”

When he had packed the few things he thought he could need for this moment, lube had most definitely not been one of those. Not that he used to keep lube in his hut on Tatooine, at any rate.

Anakin, probably sensing the general tenor of his thoughts, snorted. “I don’t care.” He smiled, suggestively thrusting his hips upwards to grind against Obi-Wan. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat at this somewhat bold declaration, Obi-Wan kissed the spot where neck met shoulder. “Prop yourself up just slightly on your knees,” he murmured raggedly, watching Anakin do as he was told, his torso still pressed against the mattress but his ass now slightly lifted in the air. “Yes, just like this.”

Again he pressed his body against Anakin, his mouth tracing lazy kisses along his shoulders, while his finger slid back in, entering and retreating slowly in a lush motion that made his own skin crawl. When Anakin was stretched enough, now panting hard, he let another finger inside. At the same time, he lifted his weight to kneel between Anakin’s spread legs and took his time to watch, enraptured, as his fingers stretched Anakin’s tightness, sliding in and out with a slow rhythm that was surely driving him mad. Wanting to hear him moan louder, Obi-Wan’s next thrust was deeper, his knuckles disappearing inside Anakin’s eager body; Anakin cried out and threw back his head, arching as he shoved his ass backwards to take him in deeper, and then he cried out again as Obi-Wan took his hard cock in his other hand and started stroking him leisurely.

Obi-Wan was giving and Anakin was taking, and when, after some time, he added another finger inside him Obi-Wan realized that he would gladly go on like this forever, giving Anakin all the pleasure he wanted without getting any, because what Anakin was already giving him, this perfect illusion of a past that had never come to pass, was far beyond anything Obi-Wan could offer in return.

“Please, Obi-Wan,” Anakin gasped, his eyes hidden behind squeezed eyelids. “I… I want you.”

This _you_ undid him, and a deep groan escaped his lips. He didn’t deserve this, _but Force_ , he wanted him so badly.

“Just a little more,” he said nonetheless, stroking Anakin’s cock harder, root to head, his fingers sliding on the hard shaft now slick with precum.

When he thought Anakin was ready, Obi-Wan removed his fingers and grasped Anakin’s hips, taking in the beauty of his back marked by kisses and bites as he pressed the tip of his hard cock against the stretched entrance to his body.

His eyes still closed, Anakin pulled himself up on his elbows and knees and turned his head towards Obi-Wan, his body almost shaking with desire; he was so beautiful bared like this, eager, and Obi-Wan couldn't think anymore, he only wanted to feel Anakin close around him, he wanted to kiss him and make him beg for air and release as he pushed inside him. Without thinking, he grasped Anakin's shoulders to roll him on his back; he had always preferred making love face to face.

“No!” Anakin cried, but it was too late, because Obi-Wan’s hands had already brushed against the life-support system, and all memories of Vader had crashed back upon them.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin whispered, his head clutched in his hands against the mattress as he curled upon himself.

Obi-Wan looked at him, trying to search for clarity amidst the building pressure of his aching arousal. Lying before him was the man who had destroyed the Jedi, the man who had killed so many of their brothers and sister. The man who had tried to kill his own pregnant wife. The man who had tried to kill him.

A Sith.

For the first time, he could see it, really see it.

Darth Vader, and Anakin Skywalker.

The past could not be changed, and there would be no future for either of them. There was only the present moment, shorter and shorter as time inexorably went on.

Forgiveness was not something Obi-Wan could offer him, but love did not imply or require forgiveness. All that was needed now was acceptance.

“Turn around,” he whispered.

Anakin, dazed, lifted his head to look at him, his now open golden eyes shining in the dark.

Shivering, Obi-Wan held his gaze.

Anakin’s eyes widened.

“But…”

“Turn around. I want you. All of you.” He let out a deep breath. "Anakin."

Without speaking, Anakin turned around, lying on his back, the horrible truth of Darth Vader now again in the open, and Obi-Wan crawled back upon him, Anakin’s legs closing around his hips as they sunk in a wordless kiss, anger and grief and betrayal burning around them until they melt in the Force, leaving behind only a smoldering halo of ahses.

They kissed and kissed, unable to stop, fingers tangling in hair and in metal fingers, their hardened cocks brushing against each other and drawing gasps that were drowned into more kisses.

Obi-Wan’s lips left the welcoming mouth to slide downwards, leaving a wet trail along jawbone and neck, and Anakin’s hands stilled in his hair when Obi-Wan’s mouth found the edge of the red welt on his shoulder, kissing the tender, ruined flesh with reverent devotion and meek acceptance of fate, the faint hums and beeps of the life-support no longer muffled by the mattress but now intermingled with their pants.

Their mouths were joined together in yet another kiss, their hands were grasping hips and shoulders in bruising grips and blue eyes were locked into golden when, at last, Obi-Wan entered Anakin and thought his heart was going to explode.

He thrust inside him, their gasps of pleasure dissolving into one, foreheads pressed against each other. He took Anakin’s metal hand in his, pressing it against the mattress as he pounded against him, and then his other hand closed around Anakin’s cock and they lost themselves in blissful agony, all reduced to sounds and sensations and the Force warped around them, golden and hot.

Anakin’s teeth closed on his neck with a strangled yelp when Obi-Wan hit the right spot inside him, and again, and again, slow at first and then faster and faster, erratically, frantically, until the searing pleasure crashed Anakin’s shields, baring his soul.

Black shadows enclosed them, but Obi-Wan, unable to stop now that he was so near, _so near_ , didn’t draw back in horror. He kept moving, thrusting, kissing, and he let his own shields down so that his own inner flame could enlighten the darkness, Jedi instinct stronger than thought.

Another flame blazed to life then, a burning sun, a supernova nearing its end, and together they rose across the darkness, twin suns at last finding each other in the sky they had always belonged to.

Something hot sprayed between his fingers and on his stomach, Anakin shuddering in ecstasy under him, around him, inside his soul.

Obi-Wan cried Anakin's name as he came inside him, hard and hot, and he didn’t even need to tell Anakin how much he loved him because he already knew. The Force was screaming his love, so much love, so much his heart couldn’t take it.

The white agony of orgasm brought with it a searing moment of clarity, and in the brightness of intermingled pain and release, as his heart shuddered violently, Obi-Wan knew that their journey had come to an end, because the burning fire that engulfed him couldn’t be anything but the death he had planned for them both.

“Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan!”

Anakin was calling him, his voice etched with fear, but he couldn’t see him, he could only feel his hands pushing him away and rolling him on his back.

His body was burning in light, his pulse was running wild, his mind was blank with pain. He had thought that they would die instantly as their ship crashed out of hyperspace – they should have, according to every law of physics and physiology – but apparently he had been wrong, or something else was happening, something he could not understand.

“ _Master_!”

Anakin’s terrified voice broke through the haze; fighting against the white tide, Obi-Wan lifted his hand to drag him down for one last kiss.

“No, Obi-Wan, no, please, look at me… Obi-Wan!”

The last thing Obi-Wan saw before searing brightness took him was the blue in Anakin’s eyes.

 

*

 

The Emperor was pleased.

The traitor Erso had been unmasked and disposed of, and the Death Star was, at long last, ready to be unleashed. He had decided to be present for the ceremony that would make the battle station operational, but there was one last thing he wanted to know before he gave the order to initiate the ignition sequence.

The doors to his throne room in the _Death Star_ slid open and the dark shape of Darth Vader stepped into the room, crossing it until he came to an halt under the stairway leading to the throne, where he kneeled, his head bowed down in reverential fear.

It was always so pleasant to see the man who had once been Anakin Skywalker on his knees, subdued. The Emperor knew this would not last forever, that some day Vader would turn against him as he had turn against his old Master, as the Emperor himself had once turned against his.

But that day was still to come.

Vader’s control over the Dark Side was not that strong yet.

“You summoned me, my Master?”

“Yes. Yes. I sensed a disturbance in the Force.”

Without being told to, Vader rose to his feet, his hatred darkening the Force.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead,” he said, shifting his cape away to show the old lightsaber he had clipped to his belt alongside his.

The Emperor was extremely pleased.

“I thought it could be that,” he said. “I sensed your pleasure as an obnoxious light disappeared from the universe. But I also sensed your grief and your rage at his death, my apprentice. Tell me, why did you mourn him?”

Vader stiffened, his anger closing around him like storm clouds.

“I did not mourn him. I mourned the loss of a proper revenge.” He clenched his fist, a pitiful display of pettiness Sidious had always despised. “He was insane and ill, old before his time. He died from a heart attack while we fought.”

It was not often that Sidious was rendered speechless. Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator, going out like any other man.

“Where is the body?” he asked at last.

“In my quarters. I wish to have him frozen in carbonite. I want to put him on display on Mustafar, alongside my other trophies. After all, it was I who broke him.”

“I can think of no place more fitting,” the Emperor agreed. “In the meanwhile, I hope you will enjoy the small show this battle station will offer us.”

“Alderaan,” Vader stated. He had been informed.

“It appears the traitor Erso was in league with Senator Organa. Our intelligence intercepted a transmission. They have not been able to decipher it yet, but its existence itself his proof enough, and Organa has been a thorn in my side for too long.”

“The two long lost friends will finally meet again in death,” Vader said dryly, eliciting a chuckle from the Emperor.

“Indeed, my apprentice. Now leave me. We will exit hyperspace in thirty minutes. I want you here with me to watch when we arrive.”

 

*

  

Cleaned, groomed and once again dressed in his Jedi robes, his lightsaber clipped at his belt, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s body had been accurately settled atop Darth Vader’s large bed in the Sith Lord's private quarters aboard the Death Star. He looked peaceful in death, and younger, only the strands of gray hair betraying his years now that the grief had been forever swept away from his closed eyes.

Not far from the bed where his dead body lay, Obi-Wan was present in holographic form, speaking in the crisp Coruscanti accent his former apprentice had been so fond of.

 _“If you are watching this, Anakin, it is only because something went terribly wrong with my plan and, absurdly enough, this makes you my only hope. Quite ironic, isn’t it? But let’s cut to the chase. As I am sure you are fully aware of, your friend Palpatine has a new toy to play with – apparently, they call it the_ Death Star _. I must say, the Sith are surely not subtle, are they? I can see how this must have looked appealing to you. Forgive me, I’m letting myself getting carried away again, but, sweet Force, I miss you so much. Anakin. I remember only too well our field trip to Utapau. The giant kyber. Palpatine’s plotting. Don’t you see the way he’s played us? Played you? Please, Anakin, you must realize that this abomination cannot be allowed to exist. I was supposed to distract you while another Jedi boarded the_ Death Star _to work on a fault line in the kyber and cause its explosion. I know I should not be telling you this, but, once again, if I died, or failed, and your mechanical genius or your Force abilities somehow found a way to interrupt the suicidal jump I am planning for us, by now I suppose you must be heading back to the_ Death Star _. The other Jedi is Ahsoka, Anakin. Ahsoka, your Padawan. Our Padawan. She doesn’t know who you are. Do not let her sacrifice be in vain. Help her or, if you really can’t betray your Emperor, not even for Ahsoka, at least do not stop her. When she died, Padmé told me that there was still good in you. I want to believe that too. Don’t prove her wrong, Anakin. Do it for her, if for no one else. You know what she would have wanted. May the Force be with you.”_

As Obi-Wan flickered out of existence, Anakin Skywalker rose from the corner of the room he had been sitting in, tears shimmering on his face. He had discarded Darth Vader’s suit and mask as soon as he had entered his chambers, and was now dressed in plain black trousers and tunics, not so different from those he used to wear in the last days of the Clone Wars.

He crossed the room and settled himself upon the large bed, then turned towards the body that lay beside him and gently, with loving care, took Obi-Wan in his arms one last time.

“Obi-Wan,” he whispered, his sobs muffled against the still shoulder of the man who had been his Master, his best friend, his mortal enemy and, at the end of all things, his lover. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t need to tell him that he loved him. He knew that Obi-Wan had known that.

He tipped his head to drop a chaste kiss on Obi-Wan’s cold lips and then, still holding him in his arms, he let go of everything else, fell into the deepest meditative trance of his life and did what he must.

When the kyber crystal inside the _Death Star_ exploded with the righteous anger of the violated Force, only two empty sets of clothes and two lightsabers lay on Darth Vader’s bed.

 

*

 

 

Ahsoka Tano woke up in an Imperial escape pod. She had no idea whatsoever of how she had managed to end up there. She only knew that her mission had failed.

The pod was slowly drifting through space; she could see a planet below, which meant that someone would, eventually, come to save her, but here, in the small constricting space there wasn’t much to do beside baring her teeth in a furious snarl for her failure and clenching her fists, until she realized that, in one of her fists, she was holding a holotransmitter she had never seen. Startled, she switched it on, letting out a cry of shock and almost dropping it as Anakin Skywalker materialized before her, back from the dead. It was clear he had been crying when he had registered the message.

_“Ahsoka. Snips. I… I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry. It’s not enough, but I’m sorry. It was me, Ahsoka. Me. Vader. It was me all along. I’m so sorry. Obi-Wan is dead – no, it's not like you think, I didn’t kill him! Or perhaps I did, I don’t even know. I didn't want to. He’s at peace now. Soon I will be too. I don’t want you to die, Ahsoka, I will take care of everything. I promise. I’m sorry. Stay safe, Snips."_

Ahsoka cried until her throat was hoarse and then more, and she was still crying when a salvage ship found her.

 

*

 

The night that the _Death Star_ was destroyed and the Empire came to an end with the death of both Darth Vader and the Emperor, two orphaned children shared a dream. They lived at the opposite ends of the Galaxy, the princess in a beautiful palace in the Core Worlds, the farm boy in a small house of plastered adobe in the Outer Rim. They had never met, and they would not meet for many years to come.

They never told anyone about that dream, not until they finally found each other and discovered the truth about who they were. It was only then that they shared that precious memory, the dream of a man with unruly curls and gentle blue eyes who had come to visit them in their sleep, tucking them under the sheets before casting a loving kiss on their foreheads.

“Sleep well, my child,” the man had said. “Papa and Uncle Ben will watch over you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, this was initially planned as a consensual, savage hate-fuck smut with almost no angst, but neither Obi-Wan nor Vader would comply, so I got you this instead. You're welcome. And yes, I am sorry. I don't know what got into me.
> 
> Trigger warnings: major character death for heart attack during sex (this would definitely have made a weird tag); vague mention of the possibility of (non happening!) non-con; force assault; force-choke in non-sexual setting.


End file.
